Pieces
by justanotheryaoifangirl
Summary: Hichigo liked fragile things, but more than anything, he loved watching them break Rating not a joke! HichixIshi, Hinted IchixRuki and IchixIshi.
1. Chapter 1

Hichigo liked fragile things

Author's Note: Wow, I finally finished this after months of on and off writing. Karen, it's all yours.

Warning: Yaoi, graphic, rape, as with all – don't like, don't read!

Disclaimer: Don't own…obviously…

Hichigo liked fragile things.

He supposed he was similar to his King in that respect. Both of them knew how to appreciate the vulnerability of all those things easily shattered. Ichigo had always been drawn to fragility and, as a consequence, he had been brought along for the ride. Hichigo had watched as the boy struggled to protect those who couldn't fend for themselves. It was this attraction to fragility, coupled with a hero complex, that was the driving force in almost anything he did. However, that was something that anyone could tell you. From his spot in Ichigo's head, Hichigo knew quite a bit more than other people. That was why he could tell you that Ichigo's favorite thing about fragility wasn't to simply observe its alluring beauty. No, Ichigo wanted it to be dynamic. He needed to see something change. That was why his favorite thing about vulnerability was strengthening it, until it could stand on its own. That was why Ichigo had worked so hard to repair such a heavily damaged Soul Society. It was because he couldn't appreciate fragility simply as it was.

This was another thing Hichigo had in common with his King. Even though he liked fragile things, he liked them much better when they were changing. However, unlike Ichigo, he saw no appeal in helping something delicate get by on its own. After all, what beauty could one see in a fragile object that was no longer fragile? It only became another one of the countless ordinary things in the world, remarkable in no other way than its sheer unremarkability. No, watching something vulnerable become something ordinary was not something that appealed to Hichigo in the least. Unlike his King, Hichigo's favorite thing about fragility wasn't being able to defend it, to make it stronger. No, more than anything, he loved watching it break.

Save for the rain, nothing fragile existed in Hichigo's dreary world. However, in a place where it rained so often, even the delicate beauty of the raindrops shattering against the pavement eventually lost its appeal. That was why when he first saw Ishida, his breath hitched. The boy was beautiful, the very epitome of fragility. Even his pride, for all it was worth, was still only a paper-thin attempt at protection from the cruel world he had long since learned to survive in. And yes, the boy was surviving, but barely; he was surviving just well enough to make him beautiful, fragile. Since then, Hichigo had often wondered what it was that caused Ichigo to overlook such a stunningly delicate beauty. The mask the boy wore was neither intricate nor convincing. It shouldn't have been effective enough to fool him, seeing how easily he had been able to see through that of Rukia. Although, he supposed he should be grateful to Ichigo's closed-mindedness, for, had he noticed the boy's vulnerability, Ishida would be nowhere near as perfectly fragile as he was.

Ishida was untouched and for that reason, and that reason alone, Hichigo swore that he would keep the Quincy's fragile beauty to himself. He would shelter the boy from Ichigo, not allowing him to taint such a splendid display of delicate vulnerability with his twisted ideals about what made fragility beautiful. He wouldn't let Ishida become the next Rukia, a now strong-willed shinigami, left with only a faint shadow of her former unsteadily put together self. The boy would be his and his alone. Ishida would be his to adore, his to admire, and yes, Ishida would be his to break.

That was why he was crouching, uninvited, in the window of Ishida's bedroom. The boy was sitting on his bed, knees pulled up to his chin, with his arms wrapped around his legs. Everything about him, from his porcelain skin to his choice of glasses over contacts screamed "Breakable: don't touch!" For several seconds, Hichigo was content just to watch the boy as he wondered what was on his mind. As fragile as he was, Ishida was always on alert. But now, he was staring vacantly into space as Hichigo remained unnoticed in the boy's flat. Walking over to the boy, he settled down across from him on the bed and continued to stare.

"What are you thinking about, Quincy?" At the sound of Hichigo's voice, Ishida's head snapped up and his deep blue eyes refocused. In less time than it took to blink, the archer was on his feet with a blue arrow pointed at Hichigo's bare chest, all signs of his mysterious trauma gone.

"What do you want, Hollow?" Ishida asked, glaring at the smirking figure on his bed.

"Nuh uh uh," Hichigo mocked, waving a finger in the air. "Let's not forget whose body this is, hm?" Before Ishida could react, the silver cross around his wrist had been yanked off and tossed effortlessly across the room. Grabbing both the boy's wrists with one ashen hand, Hichigo pinned the boy to the bed, hands held captive above his head. Much to Hichigo's delight, the boy was even lovelier up close. The scarce lighting in the room reflected off his glasses and emphasized the tiny flecks of lighter blue in his cobalt eyes. Those flecks reminded Hichigo of broken glass and he grinned, golden eyes shimmering in anticipation.

"Get off of me," Ishida hissed, struggling to free his arms.

"Shh… My pretty little Quincy, you're much more irresistible when you don't speak." In the moment it took Ishida to decide whether or not to be insulted by that statement, Hichigo had conjured up a red retisu ribbon – Ichigo's retisu – and had begun tying the boy's hands to the metal headboard. Feeling the restraint around his wrists, Ishida's eyes widened with realization. It was then that Hichigo decided that such a look, like a deer in headlights, was something that seemed to fit perfectly on the archer's delicate features. The look of absolute terror, along with the knowledge that he was powerless to stop what he knew was coming, was one that suited the boy well. His eyes – Hichigo frowned. Reaching up and removing the annoying object that was obstructing his view of those lovely panic-stricken eyes, he placed the glasses on the night table next to the bed. Squinting slightly in an attempt to repair his vision, Ishida looked blind and helpless. A wicked grin spread across Hichigo's features as he summoned up another retisu ribbon. Blind, he could arrange that. All the while, the fear of the boy held captive underneath him grew.

"Why…how are you…where's Ichigo?" The superior tone that Hichigo had come to expect of the archer had vanished, voice coming out instead like a pitiful whimper. His composure: broken; the first crack in the boy's fragile shell.

"Sorry, sweetheart," Hichigo whispered, leaning over to nip playfully at a pale earlobe, reveling in the obvious disgust of the resulting shudder. "Ichigo's not home right now." Stretching the retisu ribbon across the Ishida's eyes, he could only think of one drawback to this attempt at making the boy as beautifully vulnerable as possible. For the rest of the night, he was going to wonder about just how the Quincy looked with his eyes clouded with lust.

Tying off the red ribbon, one of Hichigo's hands found its way to the collar of Ishida's shirt while the other slipped past the shirt's bottom hem and slid across a toned stomach and lightly muscled chest. Running one finger down the length of the material, Hichigo found that all of the buttons on it had been replaced with metal fasteners and he smirked. Buttons would have been too ordinary anyway.

Allowing his hands to graze the boy's pale skin one more time, he viciously attacked the junction between Ishida's neck and his shoulder with his mouth, his fingers latching onto the shirt's metal fasteners just long enough to pull them apart to reveal more and more of his flawless pale skin. Enjoying the sensation of the boy squirming nervously underneath him, Hichigo allowed his hands to roam freely across the boy's abdomen, letting the heat radiating off of the boy warm his ice-cold hands. Lips trailing kisses across Ishida's collarbone and down his chest, his hands made their way to the waistband of the Quincy's pants. That seemed to be a wakeup call for the archer, as he immediately started fighting harder. However, Hichigo had too great of a hold on him and his struggles proved useless. Reluctantly submitting, (though even reluctant seemed too mild a word) the boy's dignity cracked and crashed around him, joining what was left of his composure.

Undoing the clasp of the boy's pants, Hichigo pulled them down, along with his boxers, in one fluid motion, quickly detangling them from around Ishida's ankles. Looking down, he was almost surprised to find that the archer was already hard, despite the fact that he clearly didn't want to be in such a vulnerable position. But, of course, it was Ichigo's body he was in; the Qunicy would have reacted to it weather he wanted to or not.

Running his tongue sensually up the length, he smirked at the loud, uncontrolled moan that left the boy's lips. He watched amusedly as the archer quickly bit his lip, ashamed of what he had just done. Forcing Ishida's knees apart with his hands, Hichigo made quick work of his own pants before lying down between the Quincy's slender legs. Taking in the sight of the boy, trapped and helpless, he gave the boy's length a few quick strokes, enjoying the muffled gasps of pleasure, before turning his attention to his own member, straining against the archer's leg.

Not bothering with much preparation, Hichigo quickly slicked two fingers with spit and pushed them through the boy's hole, impatience getting the best of him as he pulled them out with a feral growl before positioning himself in front of Ishida's entrance instead. In one swift upward movement, Hichigo was fully sheathed. The Quincy's anguished cries of pain, distorting themselves to his own warped notions, reached his ears as something not unlike the melodious sounds of glass splintering a split-second before shattering and hitting the ground like tiny shards of solid rain.

When he started to move, he could feel the violent shudders wracking the archer's small frame. No longer a sole consequence of disgust, Hichigo could hear the undertones of pleasure in the boy's gasps, the traces of pain in his tears. Unable to control his own senses with Hichigo relentlessly ramming his prostate, the blood running down Ishida's bottom lip was only a minor inconvenience when compared to the number of screams it was keeping locked in his throat. However, he could feel himself coming close to completion, however badly he wanted his body to stop reacting to the other's sinful touch.

With one last well-angled thrust, Ishida came, lips parted in a silent scream, his seed splattering onto both their stomachs. With one look at the Quincy's face, tear-streaked and riddled with ecstasy, Hichigo came on the spot, shooting his load deep into the boy underneath him. However, Hichigo gave no sign of having climaxed, save for an almost inaudible sigh that may or may not have been the other's given name. Instead, he kept his eyes trained on the archer and drank in the sight, etching into his mind the exact moment the boy came, pride splintering as he rode out his orgasm. In that split-second, Hichigo had memorized everything about him, from his tears spilling out from under the blindfold to the way his lithe body quivered in a mixed response to his orgasm and the cold. In that moment, the exact moment the boy withdrew his pride – the only thing left that was holding him together – and shattered underneath him, Ishida was beautiful, perfect.

Pulling out, Hichigo leaned over the now still boy and cleaned up the mess on his stomach with his tongue. Sliding off the bed, he grabbed a stray piece of cloth off the floor and proceeded to clean between the Ishida's legs, surprised not to be meeting any form of resistance. Wiping off his own torso, Hichigo pulled on his pants and walked around to the other side of the bed so he could untie the archer's hands. Pulling the red retisu ribbon out of its knot, he watched as it disappeared from between his fingers before gently lowering the boy's arms into a more comfortable position. He contemplated putting on Ishida's boxers, but thought better of it when he caught a glimpse of the handmade quilt on the boy's night table. Unfolding the quilt, Hichigo laid it gently on top of him before pulling off the retisu ribbon that had served the purpose of a blindfold. A small smile graced the Hollow's lips. His prized toy had fallen asleep, eyelashes casting tiny shadows across his cheeks. Stepping up to the windowsill, Hichigo took one last look at the sleeping boy before hopping out the window, eager to return Ichigo's body to his bed and resume his position in the boy's head before he had the chance to figure out what had happened.

That encounter was everything Hichigo had imagined, and yet it had left him unsatisfied; he wanted, no, _needed_ more. With Ishida in such a state, even someone as dense as Ichigo had to take notice, and he counted on his King to do what he was best at and put the fragmented boy back together. Still even if he couldn't, it wasn't too much of a problem.

After all, he could still play with the pieces.

Author's Note: Well, how obvious was it that this was my first lemon? Reviews please, I want to know how I did!


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: Alright, because my perverted friends begged, I'm continuing this little fic. **But**, I don't have a ton of ideas so this is going to take a while to write and update so, be patient, you know? And reviews much appreciated, okay?

Warning: Minor OOC-ness, yaoi, as with all – don't like, don't read!

Disclaimer: Don't own…obviously…

The fact that Ichigo woke up to something other than his idiotic excuse for a father trying to bash his head in was the first indication that something was wrong. The fact that he had been jolted awake to the pleasant sight of dirty sheets, yet had no memory of the wet dream that had caused them was the second indication that something was _very_ wrong.

Scowling, as was his norm, Ichigo rolled out of bed, peeling off his soiled boxers before pulling on new ones and going in search of his school uniform. Trying to remember what had happened last night, Ichigo paused and turned around to stare suspiciously at the article of clothing he had just taken off. He could have sworn he had put on a different pair of boxers last night. But then again, he had been in the middle of changing when Rukia barged into his room with news of another Hollow attack. In between yelling at the midget shinigami to get out of the room when he was changing and trying to dodge the punches from her gloved fist, memorizing the pattern of his boxers was the last thing on his mind. A soft knock on his door broke him from his reverie and he glanced up.

"Ichi-ni, breakfast is ready," Yuzu called cheerfully from the other side of the door.

"Yeah, yeah," Ichigo mumbled, finally finding his tie and slipping it around his neck. Turning back to his bed, he looked disgustedly at the sheets before stripping them off his bed and throwing them in his closet. He had once made the mistake of taking them downstairs to the laundry, only to encounter the blithering idiot that called himself their father waiting to catch him unawares at the bottom of the staircase. Not wanting to relive the man's lecture about the joys and responsibilities of becoming a man, Ichigo had since started leaving his things in his closet, to be washed at a more appropriate time, preferably when Isshin was far, _far_ away.

Grabbing his bag, Ichigo made his way to the kitchen to pick up whatever Yuzu had made for breakfast. Passing his other sister staring disdainfully at the television in their living room, Ichigo looked around for the fourth member of his dysfunctional family.

"Hey, Karin, where's the idiot?"

"Dunno," she replied, shrugging carelessly. "He ran off in the middle of the night, something about meeting a friend. I'm surprised you didn't hear him. He's still gone, enjoy it while you can."

Not bothering with a reply, Ichigo shoved the rest of his breakfast in his mouth and slipped the plate in the dishwasher. Upon opening the door, he managed to catch a glimpse of his classmates before Orihime threw herself at him, crushing his ribcage in tight hug.

"Kurosaki-kun! Thank goodness you're okay! You are okay, right? Oh, I was so worried! When I felt your retisu drop like that I got so scared!"

Prying the clinging girl off of him, he turned to stare questioningly at the two standing behind her. As expected, Chad said nothing, a small wave the only sign of life from the silent giant. Rukia, instead, opted for kicking him in the stomach.

"OW!" he yelled doubling over from the pain. "What the hell was that for?"

"For making us think you were dead, stupid," she replied calmly, before turning around and heading down the street towards the school.

"What! When did I do anything of the sort," he yelled running after her. "You just wanted an excuse to kick me, didn't you?"

"Eh? Don't you remember Kurosaki-kun," Orihime asked, suddenly appearing beside him. "Yesterday your retisu took a dive in the middle of the night; we thought something had happened to you!"

"We had to split up because of a second Hollow attack yesterday," Rukia clarified. "I was in the middle of fighting, so I couldn't come find you, but right after the Hollow's retisu went out, your's took a nosedive too. Then a few hours later, your retisu reappears, seemingly unharmed, safely back at home." By this time, the tiny girl was fuming. "Do you have any idea how long I was looking for you? I thought that Hollow had taken you down with it!"

"Eh? Really?" Ichigo asked, perplexed. "That Hollow was no problem; I had it finished off in no time. I don't really remember what happened afterwards too well, but I made it home alright. Though, come to think of it, the thing was spurting this blue slime all over the place. Could have zapped my retisu or something…" Shrugging, he deemed the topic unimportant, and the four made their way through the halls and to their homeroom in silence. Glancing around the room, Ichigo's scowl deepened in confusion.

"Oi, anyone know where Ishida is?" Looking around with various levels of bewilderment showing on their faces, the four of them were taken aback by the empty seat at their classmate's desk.

"That's odd," Orihime stated, finger raised to her chin, pondering. "Ishida-kun is never late…and it's not like him to be absent either…"

Looking up at the clock in the front of the room, Ichigo furrowed his eyebrows, counting down the seconds until the first bell. Seconds after the shrill ringing subsided, the class quieted considerably. Hearing the tell-tale sound of the classroom door squeaking open, Ichigo's head swiveled to catch sight of the figure making its way into the classroom.

The facts that Ishida was late, winced slightly every time he took a step, and refused to meet anyone's eyes were the third, fourth, and fifth indications that something was _definitely_ wrong.

--

_Hot, so hot. Ichigo's lips left burning trails wherever they touched his exposed torso. Moaning loudly, Ishida tangled his hands in the boy's unkempt orange hair, squirming under his skillful touch. He could feel the shinigami's erection hard against his thigh and felt his own member twitch wildly in anticipation. Feeling Ichigo's hands running slowly down his sides, he tightened his grip on the red-head's hair. Gasping in pleasure when he felt the boy's warm breath ghost over his length before turning his attention to the archer's inner thighs, he twisted around impatiently in the other's secure grasp._

"_Kur…Kuro…saki," he managed to get out between pants. "I…I need…you…in, n-now." Smiling, a rare occurrence for the usually-scowling boy, Ichigo kissed back up the raven's side before again capturing his lips in a sensually sweet kiss._

"_So impatient, Ishida," he whispered affectionately, nuzzling further into the crook of his neck while his fingers found their way to Ishida's hole and had begun stretching him. Wriggling against Ichigo's fingers, urging them deeper into his entrance, Ishida threw his head back, a loud cry escaping unashamed from his lips, as a fingertip brushed by the small bundle of nerves that blurred his senses with inexplicable pleasure._

"_St-stop teasing, Kuro…Kurosaki…just…just do it…a-already." Removing his fingers, Ichigo shifted slightly, positioning himself in front of Ishida's entrance. Ishida could feel the redhead's grin against his neck, and gasped when he felt the boy's sinful tongue lapping up the glistening sweat that was running down his collarbone._

"_Sorry, Ishida," he whispered, something in the shinigami's voice making his blood run cold, "but there's going to be a slight change of position." Suddenly fearful of the dangerous glint he saw in those honey brown eyes, Ishida yelped as Ichigo forcefully grabbed his shoulder and flipped him onto his stomach. Feeling rough hands lifting his hips, he could not believe they were the same hands that had touched him with such gentleness mere seconds ago. As the boy above him thrust in harshly, Ishida's senses were flooded by the pain of tearing skin and merciless hands. Thought was forced out of his head by a throbbing in his ears and a loud scream that mush have been his own._

_No, this wasn't right; something was off. Something was __**wrong**__. Feeling Ichigo biting down sharply at his neck, Ishida cried out in pain, burying his head into the pillow and clutching desperately at the sheets. Gritting his teeth, tears sprung to his eyes as the boy above him continued to thrust faster, harder._

"_Come on, Ishida, show me your face when you scream," Ichigo murmured into his shoulder, his sharpened teeth scraping against the skin hard enough to draw blood._

"_Look at me, Ishida. I want to see your face when you cum." The statement was accompanied by a hand pulling roughly at his hair and an excruciatingly painful thrust. A pained scream forced itself from his throat, echoing in the small room as Ichigo twisted his head back harshly. Screwing his eyes shut, Ishida refused to look at the boy looming over him, afraid of what he might find._

"_Open your eyes, Ishida," he whispered, running his finger along a pale jaw line. "You know how much I love your eyes." Hearing his heart beating loudly in his ears, Ishida struggled against the command, yet he found his eyes were sliding open against his will. Trying to control his shivering, Ishida looked up, wide-eyed, at the wicked smirk on the other's face. The feel of the shinigami's hot breath across his face elicited a violent shudder, and he watched in fear as a blue tongue emerged to run lustfully over quickly-paling lips._

"_What's the matter, Quincy?" he lisped, his face contorting itself into a twisted mockery of a concerned frown. "Is there something wrong?" he asked, leaning in close enough that Ishida could feel the other's smirk against his lips as he spoke. "You're shaking you know." The color from Ichigo's face was quickly draining and he could see the orange fading from his hair. As his heart rate sped up in terror, so did the distortions in the image above him. Honey-colored eyes turned gold and animal-like, and the whites around his eyes swirled into black._

"_You're not…afraid of me, are you?"_

Ishida woke with a scream. He could hear his heart beating loudly in his ears and the back of his neck was covered in a cold sweat. Looking down at his hands he realized that he was trembling. Looking fearfully around the room, Ishida tried to calm his rapidly beating heart, reminding himself that it was just a dream, just a dream. Letting out a shuddering breath, he mentally berated himself. _'Liar, don't feign ignorance.'_

Snatches of the dream flashed behind his eyes. A wicked smirk. A hiss of breath in his ear. Teeth cruelly embedded in his shoulder. A red ribbon wound tightly around his wrists. Another one across his eyes, his vision limited to the blood-colored demons his imagination felt fit to torture him with. Pieces of last's night's torment wove their way in between the images his torturous mind was forcing him to recall from his nightmare. Soon enough, it became impossible to tell the difference between the two. Opening his eyes (when had he closed them?) the room blurred out of focus, the dark making it even harder to make out even his familiar surroundings. Automatically, his hand reached for his glasses. Bringing them to his face, he wrinkled his brow in confusion; his vision remained the same. Bringing a trembling hand up to wipe at his eyes, he found himself mildly surprised at the water that came running down his face. He couldn't remember the last time he had cried.

Not trusting his quivering limbs, Ishida tried to lie back down, only to be rewarded with a sharp pain shooting up the base of his spinal cord. Hissing in agony, Ishida froze, fervently willing the soreness in his backside away as his eyes again snapped shut and the tears flowing down his cheeks picked up speed. He couldn't do it. He couldn't go to school. At the thought, his father's voice filled his ears. How _disappointed_ he would be. How _weak_ he was for letting it happen to him. The man's condescending tone, his disdainful frown; the images were burned into his mind as another reminder of his helplessness, his vulnerability, his _failure_. No, he refused to give Ryuuken the satisfaction.

Wincing painfully, Ishida made his way out of bed, stumbling repeatedly in the hall on his way to the bathroom. A shaky hand clasped tightly around the handle of the shower door, he reached for the hot water knob, turning it on as far as it would go. Sighing shakily, he let the scalding water wash over him, the burning sensation fooling him into thinking he could rid his body of last night's memory. A brief look at the smoldering color of his arms told him that he had spent much longer standing there than he had originally planned, and he reluctantly turned the water off, letting the heat fade away, only to be replaced by a bone-chilling cold.

Limping back to his room, Ishida pulled on his school uniform, before grimacing as he bent down to pick up his schoolbag. Walking out the door, the thought of breakfast never came close to crossing his mind. Instead, he was elsewhere, lost in thought, or rather, the absence of thought. As opposed to the flood of images that his mind had conjured up for him shortly after jolting awake, his mind was now a dark abyss, brilliantly and blissfully blank. It was as if his mind had done a complete shut-down after the initial shock.

The only thing that seemed to keep his dangerously empty mind firmly planted in reality was the constant pain every time he took a step. But even then, he found that if he pushed the pain to its outermost limits, eventually it would dissipate into numbness, assuming, of course, that he didn't stop walking. When he did, it just returned with a vengeance, the searing burn shooting all the way up his back and driving away any stray notions that had managed to worm their way into his head. But he supposed that was a good thing because, having to choose between the terrible pain at his rear and the treacherous thoughts occasionally appearing in his head, he found the physical agony much less threatening than mental torture.

Finding himself standing in front of his homeroom door with only a vague idea of how he had gotten there, Ishida reached for the doorknob, only to have his hand waver inches from the door. In a brief epiphany, Ishida had suddenly remembered that Kurosaki was in his class, and to say he was hesitant to see him so shortly after what had happened was a bit of an understatement. A shrill ringing brought him out of his hesitation and he swallowed his doubts, averted his eyes to the ground and slowly opened the door.

Author's Note: Reviews? I also need ideas, so fire away!


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